


For Your Hands

by muchlessvermillion



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Ronan Lynch's Hand Kink, Ronan-focused, Stream of Consciousness, just lots of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 20:56:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21308477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchlessvermillion/pseuds/muchlessvermillion
Summary: Ronan notices things.Specific things. Specific gestures, specific body parts. He always has, even back when he was trying not to, even when he didn’t want to be looking.Hands can tell you a lot about a person -- what they do with them, the way they move them, how they take care of them. And Ronan notices that, maybe more often than he should.Ronan Lynch’s loves, through the language of hands.
Relationships: Henry Cheng/Ronan Lynch, Noah Czerny/Richard Gansey III/Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish/Blue Sargent/Henry Cheng, Noah Czerny/Ronan Lynch, Richard Gansey III/Ronan Lynch, Ronan Lynch & Blue Sargent, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 9
Kudos: 121





	For Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elliptical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliptical/gifts).

Ronan notices things. 

Specific things. Specific gestures, specific body parts. He always has, even back when he was trying not to, even when he didn’t want to be looking.

Hands can tell you a lot about a person -- what they do with them, the way they move them, how they take care of them. And Ronan notices that, maybe more often than he should. It’s something he can’t control, like a magnet, something automatic in him. Maybe it’s because he’s known his whole life that shaking fingers mean one thing and bruised knuckles another, knows how boxers and brawlers can end up with the joints in their fingers knotted up from repeated breaks, knows that sometimes, in the morning, his own hands will be frozen around something impossible, something that might be beautiful or might be dangerous or might be both.

But things have changed since all this started. He doesn’t have to hide it when he stares, anymore, no matter which of his friends he’s staring at. He gets to look, and he gets to notice, and he gets to catalogue the details in the part of his mind that holds the most precious things he has left. 

When Adam and then Gansey and then everyone else start learning American Sign Language, it’s a sweet torture. It spreads through their group like a ripple. It’s a good thing, of course, for Adam especially, and Ronan kind of likes it, the ability to express himself with fingers when words won’t work right. It works with the part of him that speaks best in touch and physicality, that presents so much via body language that he hates how a phone obscures him, leaving only his words and his voice, way too bare and vulnerable. But having to set his eyes on Adam’s fingers to understand what he’s saying, watching the over-exaggerated way Gansey punctuates with the twists of his wrists, the delicate, careful way Noah spells things out -- it didn’t exactly help his fixation. He didn’t necessarily have to stop noticing, these days, but that didn’t mean they had to make it any harder on him.

But whatever. It wasn’t like he was going to stop looking, either way.

It goes like this: Adam’s fingers covered in grease, graceful even when dirty, working easy on the innards of Ronan’s BMW like a direct line to his soul, on the days that Ronan thinks he might have one. Adam’s hands, just as focused around the heft of a wrench as they are on the pages of a book. Adam’s fingers on Ronan’s lips, in his mouth, against his tongue. Adam’s hands on Ronan’s thighs, on his own fingers, on the curve of his wrists, up against his throat. Ronan feeling like he could memorize every whirl of Adam’s fingerprints just from the shape of him so close, just from repeated worship at whatever altar this counts as. Adam steady and unshaking, his hands deft and dextrous and so fucking talented. Or maybe not talented but competent, well-trained, dedicated like every other part of him. Adam feeling for Ronan’s heartbeat like a lifeline, as if he could hold it in his palm. Sometimes it feels like he does.

It goes like this: Gansey gesturing expansively as he speaks, carrying his words along the swooping movements of his palms with so much passion you just have to listen -- especially if you’re Ronan Lynch, and even if you’re pretending not to. Gansey marking his thoughts down in his notebooks like he’ll die if he doesn’t get them out, something feverish to the way he clutches a pen. Gansey’s hands hovering when he wants to help and isn’t sure how, halfway between him and whoever he’s deciding whether or not to touch, longing for it but not positive it’ll help more than it might hurt. Gansey’s fingers, as perfectly formed as the rest of him, long and slender and emphatic. Gansey with a settling palm on Ronan’s spine or the nape of his neck, pulling him back into his body like nothing else can when all he wants is to vibrate right out of it, to hurt something or get hurt himself. Gansey’s hands pressing Ronan down into the bed, searing hot and unbelievably strong around his wrists. Gansey steadying, Gansey bandaging after a fight, Gansey reaching out because it’s all he knows how to do, knowing that Ronan will always, eventually, reach back. And he does. He will.

It goes like this: Noah laughing with his fingers pressed to his mouth like he’s trying to muffle a smile, and the way it absolutely never works. Noah’s fingers gripping Ronan’s when they wrestle on the floor, flipping over each other and kicking and biting and fighting dirty with no real winner, just their legs tangling and laughter in their chest and all the excuses they needed to touch each other. Noah’s hands cold and bony dead, some days more than others, seeping dread down Ronan’s spine even as he keeps ahold of them, because if he doesn’t, Noah might fade away altogether. Noah flipping Ronan off after some dumb joke or overzealous punch to the shoulder, despite the fact that he couldn’t be scary if he tried (only when he wasn’t trying at all.) Noah’s fingers digging into his shoulders and shaking him, all blistering excitement. Noah’s fingers pressing quiet into Ronan’s lips before sharing a secret. The sweet way his hands clenched in the hem of Ronan’s shirts when they kissed, how he held on tight like it’d make up for having to rock up on his toes to reach.

At first he thought he wouldn’t notice, with Henry. That was Gansey’s territory more than his. But time inched along, and Cheng started feeling less like a threat and more like a part of things. Time inched along, and Cheng got _ funny_, and weird, and a little more human.

So it goes like this: Henry talks like every word he says is magic, like it’s dripping liquid gold. Henry talks so effusively it almost seems unreal, making great, all-encompassing use of his hands for it, kind of like Gansey does --and Ronan likes it so much when it’s Gansey, so it only makes sense that he’d at least _ see _ this-- but when Cheng does it, it’s somehow both less sensical and more elaborate. Gansey talks with his hands, sure, but he uses them to punctuate. With Henry they’re half the show. It’s a whole thing, fingers curving and rolling and snapping, bouncing to music, gesturing so wide he could throw his back out. He’s always moving, constantly matching Noah at his most hyperactive or Gansey at his most wired, hands included. And once it had been annoying. But now it just faded into everything else that spelled out Henry Cheng, that made up the shape of him in Ronan’s head. Sometimes Ronan watches Henry do it, and wonders if he’d bother to stop moving if he put Henry’s fingers in his mouth and sucked, or if even that couldn’t make him falter. 

Blue is different, obviously. He doesn’t want to put her fingers in his mouth, for one, which he’s grateful for because it would be really fucking weird given the nature of their relationship, no matter how many people they’re both sleeping with.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the things she does with them. The steady, practiced way she sews, lining up neat stitches with her eyebrows knit, adding patches to jackets and cloth to shirts that already have more than enough of it. The way she clenches her hands at her sides when she’s angry or indignant, fists tight. How she’ll backhand him in the bicep with one if he makes her laugh hard enough about something shitty. How her fingers feel, small but sturdy like the rest of her, threaded with his own. And the way she uses them to hold onto everybody else they both love.

Blue is different. Of course. But there are still things to notice, even if those things are different, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> I bribed someone with this!
> 
> I have significantly more plotty trc fics on the way (and they have dialogue and everything!) but I promised this to elliptical a while ago and wanted to get it done, especially because it's significantly shorter than most of my other in-progress works are bound to be. 
> 
> And I AM a fan of Ronan's canon hand kink.


End file.
